


The Genius of Evil

by SuddenlySullen



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Will Graham, Crossdressing, Drunk Sex, M/M, Top Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24017059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuddenlySullen/pseuds/SuddenlySullen
Summary: "Why would I need a suitcase," Will says as he's pulling on a pair of sweatpants. He starts looking for one anyway.Hannibal huffs. He tries not to smile. "I am on my way to your house. You are going to come stay with me.""My dogs," Will protests, looking down at their soft faces."Can stay in the garden," Hannibal tells him."They're not just going to be tossed outside because I'm unstable," Will bites out."Of course not," Hannibal replies. "We're going to build them a house."
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 17
Kudos: 308





	The Genius of Evil

"I can't do this," Will says, his voice breaking with emotion and crackling from the lack of good cell service at his home. It would almost be artistic if Hannibal were awake enough to see the metaphor in it. 

Hannibal blinks the sleep from his eyes. "I'm sorry, you'll need to be a bit more specific." 

Will can feel his eyes darting around the house. He feels as though he exists just slightly to the left of reality.

"I don't know what day it is," Will continues. "I can't tell if I've showered twice today or not for five days. There are bruises on my arms and I don't know where they came from. Last night I dreamed I was drowning again. I woke up in my shower coughing up water. I don't know how long I was there. The water wasn't cold yet. Winston was barking at the door. I can't do it, Hannibal." He finally breathes, more of a sob if he's being honest, as he says Hannibal's name.

Hannibal tries not to betray any emotion when he speaks. "The quarantine will end, Will. Are you afraid you may harm yourself," he asks both with sincerity and to see if Will knows the right answer. 

Will laughs that tight, sarcastic sound he saves for when things hurt. "If I say yes are you going to have me committed?" 

"Absolutely not," Hannibal bristles and finds himself suddenly fully awake. He starts to pull a pair of pants on before even checking the time. "However, if you are a danger to yourself or others, you should be supervised." 

"I called you," Will says, though he thinks he might be existing, but upside-down. "I called you," he says again, because he isn't sure if the first time was real. 

Hannibal buttons his shirt and pulls on a jacket. "What are you doing right now, Will?" 

"I'm," Will looks around his house, except it isn't his house anymore, it's the field behind the house. "I'm outside?" He asks because really he can't be sure anymore. "I can see my house. It's like a ship."

"What are you wearing, Will?" Hannibal realizes that Will's situation is even worse than he thought as he starts his car and drives towards Wolf Trap, his car the only one on the road. 

Will feels his eyebrows pinch together. "What do you mean what am I- oh. I need to go inside. I don't have pants on."

"Yes, you do. Go back in the house," Hannibal keeps his voice calm as the speedometer ticks up towards 70mph.

Will pads across the lawn. His socks are damp, he realizes. He doesn't remember putting on socks. He doesn't remember a lot of things. "I'm going inside."

"Find some pants," Hannibal tells him. "And find a suitcase."

"Why would I need a suitcase," Will says as he's pulling on a pair of sweatpants. He starts looking for one anyway.

Hannibal huffs. He tries not to smile. "I am on my way to your house. You are going to come stay with me."

"My dogs," Will protests, looking down at their soft faces. 

"Can stay in the garden," Hannibal tells him. 

"They're not just going to be tossed outside because I'm  _ unstable _ ," Will bites out.

"Of course not," Hannibal replies. "We're going to build them a house."

"A doghouse doesn't make it-"

"Will," Hannibal interrupts. "We're going to build them a house. Not a doghouse."

"How big is your garden exactly?" Will runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair. 

"Big enough," Hannibal replies easily.

"Why are you doing this?" Will asks. "I'm not even paying you."

Hannibal steps through the front door that Will could have sworn he'd locked. "You are my friend," he answers as he hangs up his cell phone. 

Will sets his own phone down. "I don't think I packed. Was I talking the whole time?"

"No," Hannibal tells him with a soft look of pity. "There was a time that you seemed a bit lost."

"That's one way to put it." Will tugs his suitcase out from under the bed. "Well, guess it's a good thing I always keep one packed."

"We should get going," Hannibal tells him. "It is quite late and I don't think you've been sleeping enough." 

Will laughs darkly. "When did I ever sleep enough?" 

Hannibal offers a comforting smile, escorting Will out the door with a hand on his back. The dogs follow easily, looking up at Will for direction. It really only reminds Will how lost he is. He looks up at Hannibal. 

"How do I know this is real?" Will asks. It's a genuine question. "I thought I called you before. A few times."

Hannibal's fingers flex against his back. "You'll just have to trust me, I think." 

"I trust you. Even when you're not real," Will says softly as he's climbing into the passenger side of Hannibal's car. "There's a blanket on my bed. You can put it on the back seat so they don't get hair everywhere." 

"Thank you, Will," Hannibal says. He clicks Will's seatbelt for him and closes the car door. He pauses for a moment before setting the car alarm, then heads into the house for the blanket. All of the dogs but one (Winston, he thinks) follow him into the house, tails wagging curiously. 

No sooner has Hannibal gathered the blanket than he hears the sound of his car alarm blaring from the driveway. He takes a few brisk steps out the front door to find Will looking very confused, halfway out of the car door. He sets the blanket down on the hood of the car and grasps the back of Will's neck. 

"You're real," Will says, eyes wet when they look at Hannibal. 

Hannibal squeezes gently. "I am real." 

He turns and shuts the car alarm off before guiding Will to sit down again.

"Sorry," Will says before the door shuts. "I thought I was dreaming."

Hannibal sighs gently as he closes the door. He lays the blanket down over his back seats, then whistles, hoping the dogs will get the idea. They seem to. All but the one that sits by Will's door. Once the back door is closed behind the others, Hannibal opens Will's door and lets that one climb into the space at Will's feet. 

"Winston," Will smiles. "He's a good boy." 

"He cares very much for you," Hannibal says, watching the way the dog rests its head against Will's thigh. 

Will and the dogs all fall asleep shortly into the drive. The snuffling snores blend together until Hannibal can't tell which noises belong to a dog and which ones belong to Will. He thinks, briefly, that Will reminds him of a stray dog in his own way. When they arrive at Hannibal's house, he gently nudges at Will's shoulder. 

"I hate to wake you, however I don't know if your dogs will follow me without you. Especially this one," he nods towards Winston, still curled up at Will's feet. 

"You're really here," Will says slowly. He looks around the car. "We're at your house. With the dogs. It wasn't a dream?"

"It wasn't. Come on now. I have a screened deck where the dogs can sleep until we can make a house for them. Let's get them settled and then you can go back to sleep." 

Will gets up from his seat and Winston loyally follows along. He feels almost guilty for thinking that Winston is his favorite. He wonders, if he asked, if Hannibal would let Winston into the house to sleep with him. He doesn't ask. He knows he's asking a lot of Hannibal already. It wouldn't be fair to play favorites. The dogs follow Will and Hannibal around to the side of the house where Hannibal unlocks a gate into a bigger garden than Will thought anyone in Baltimore had. Once everyone is in, Hannibal closes the gate behind them and the high fence almost makes it seem like the rest of the world doesn't exist. Will isn't quite sure if that's a good thing, but he figures it isn't any worse than being at his own house. Here, there's Hannibal. Hannibal won't let him get lost in himself. 

"Come along, Will. I will show you to the guest bedroom so that you can sleep. You need your rest and the sun will be up soon."

As they pass through the porch, Hannibal lifts open the bottom half of the screen door to let the dogs pass through as they please, then spreads out the blanket from Will's house over the floor. When he looks up, there's a slight smile on Will's face.

"You made them a little bed," he says with more affection in his voice than Hannibal has ever heard. 

Hannibal looks down at the blanket then back to Will. "Scent, even for humans, is one of the most intense senses. It bypasses the thalamus entirely and goes directly from the olfactory bulb to the amygdala and hippocampus, which is assumed to play a part in why scents trigger such intense memories."

"You made them a little bed because you wanted them to have nice smell memories," Will elaborates.

Hannibal cocks his head to one side. "I suppose so, yes."

"I think this is the nicest thing anyone has done for me in my entire life." Will's eyes look like they're threatening to flow over with tears. "Please let this be real."

Before he can reconsider, Hannibal puts a hand on the back of Will's neck. "Will, this is real. It is four-fifteen in the morning. Your name is Will Graham. You are in Baltimore, Maryland at my home. Your dogs are safe on my porch and in the garden. You are safe here."

Will nods, just slightly. He takes a deep breath in. "Are you going back to sleep?"

"I don't think I will. I would normally be awake in an hour. I was going to answer some patient emails and perhaps do some work in the kitchen," Hannibal tells him. 

"Do you think I could just nap in a chair in your office?" Will can't make himself meet Hannibal's eyes. Instead, he looks at his mouth. "I don't- I'm not sure I should be alone. Winston - the brown one - he usually wakes me up or reminds me when I'm out of it."

"Of course you may stay with me, Will. I'm here to ensure your safety. If being with me will help you feel safer, you will always be welcome." Hannibal finally releases Will's neck so that they can walk through to his study. 

He motions for Will to lie down on the couch then sits down opposite him in an armchair with his tablet to answer emails. Will curls up on his side and When Hannibal peeks over the edge of his tablet, he can see the way that Will watches him. He wonders if spending this time in close proximity to each other will finally let Will see him. 

The gentle tapping of Hannibal's fingers on the tablet screen helps Will convince himself that Hannibal is real and won't turn into a cloud of flies and scatter if he looks away. He feels like he's been awake for days and, for all he knows, he could have been. His eyelids close without his consent and let him slide into restless sleep. 

Hannibal stays close to Will while he sleeps, concerned where he might wander if left alone. He watches the way that Will's face twists and sweat forms on his brow the longer he's asleep. Once all of his patient emails are answered, Hannibal sets down the tablet and picks up a pencil and piece of paper. He sketches the image of a house for the dogs from his mind. It has its own porch and decorative columns that match the architecture of his own house. Once he has the image, he convinces a small hardware store to deliver the materials to his back gate and leave them there. 

Will wakes from a nightmare and sits up, almost knocking himself to the floor when he forgets that he's on a couch. He looks around frantically, worried that he's been arrested or is waking up in someone else's house. 

"Will," Hannibal's hand is on his shoulder. "You're alright."

"Are you real?" Will looks up at him. 

Hannibal offers him a soft smile. "Can you smell lunch?"

Will looks confused, but nods. 

"Your hallucinations have only been visual and auditory so far, yes?" 

Will nods again. 

"Then I must be real," Hannibal tells him. 

"You exist until proven otherwise," Will agrees and stands up when Hannibal motions for him to follow. 

The table is set with two places directly next to each other. Will thinks their chairs might be closer than they normally would be. He thinks he doesn't mind. Hannibal is the only thing he's even partially sure is real. He wants to keep him as close as possible. 

"Sharp cheddar and apple slices on sourdough with a tomato, basil, and parmesan soup." Hannibal tells him as he's looking down at his plate. 

"You made me grilled cheese and tomato soup," Will answers. 

Hannibal clears his throat. "You mentioned once during one of our conversations that when you were snowed in you liked to have it. It may not be snowing, but it occurred to me that it might bring some comfort to have a familiar meal when waking in a less familiar place."

"Hannibal, it's wonderful," Will smiles and means it. "I didn't think- People just talk, you know? Usually no one listens."

"I am paid a great deal of money to listen to people talk about things I care for much less than your favorite meals, Will," Hannibal is surprised by his own honesty. He thinks quarantine may have him out of practice with wearing his person suit. 

Will groans when he takes his first bite and the sound is almost pornographic. "This is so good."

"I'm glad to hear you enjoy it," Hannibal smiles around a bite of his own lunch. 

The supplies for their dog house arrive late in the afternoon, when the sun is getting low in the sky. Will is surprised when Hannibal changes into a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. He knows he's staring, but can't look away from the flex of muscle in Hannibal's arms when he picks up an especially heavy bag of concrete powder. The shirt clings tight to Hannibal's skin, revealing the lines of every muscle and the soft give of his stomach. Will follows and they move things easily into Hannibal's back garden. The dogs follow lazily at their heels, happy just to be included. Hannibal looks like he could be somebody's dad, hauling wood over his shoulder with a dog at his feet. 

* * *

The day passes easily with work to do and good company to keep. Easier than any in Will's recent memory. As much as he loves his dogs, he knows they're a poor replacement for human company. 

When Hannibal bends over particularly far to scratch at Buster's ears, Will catches a glimpse of something that has his feet frozen to the spot. At first, he thinks he's hallucinating again. Black lace peeks over the waist of Hannibal's jeans. It's sheer and elegant over the pale skin of Hannibal's back. Will wonders if Hannibal has been wearing lace panties every time they've interacted. In his usual fifty piece suits, who would even be able to tell? He imagines Hannibal in his office with those same lace panties on underneath his suit, talking to Will about their latest case. Or at a crime scene, shielding Will from Freddie Lounds' camera when looking got to be too much. Their bodies were sometimes so close that the lace would have rubbed against him. Will tries to breathe steadily so that he can calm himself down. He closes his eyes and reassures himself that it must be a hallucination. 

"Will?" Hannibal's hand is on his shoulder. "Are you alright?" 

When Hannibal's hand moves to the side of his neck, Will can't help but lean into it. They're covered in sweat and dirt, but Hannibal smells like something Will can't quite place. Safety. Hannibal's scent brings him a scent memory of what it felt like to feel safe, he thinks. 

"I don't know," Will says, half-opening his eyes. 

Hannibal's other thumb comes to his eyelids and pulls them up. Will isn't sure why, but lets it happen anyway because it means Hannibal is touching him. 

"I think I was seeing things again. But it felt so real," Will confesses. 

Hannibal nods and sighs with what looks like relief. "What did you see?"

There are several possible answers that Hannibal considers Will giving when he asks what his most recent hallucinations were of. He doesn't expect Will to tell him about his own lace briefs. 

"-and I know I probably sound completely insane and you probably don't want me anywhere near you," Will continues, seemingly without noticing that Hannibal had gotten lost in his own thoughts for a moment. 

"Will," Hannibal interrupts. "You have not been hallucinating. I apologize that my own wardrobe mishap has distressed you so much."

"Distressed isn't exactly the word I would use," Will can feel the blush rising in his cheeks when he says it. His eyes drop down to Buster, still sitting next to their feet. 

Hannibal doesn't remove his hand from the side of Will's neck. "Would you like to discuss this further?"

"I-" Will swallows dryly. "Do you wear them all the time?"

Hannibal smiles, almost predatory. "Undergarments? No, not always. Some days I find that it is simply more comfortable to go without."

The images in Will's mind are quickly replaced with thoughts of Hannibal's cock unrestrained in his dress pants every time he and Will were close enough to touch. His chest feels like it's filled up with water and he can't breathe. 

"Will?" Hannibal squeezes gently on his neck. "Perhaps this is a sensitive topic for you. Please forgive me if I have mistakenly stirred up some unpleasant memories."

"No," Will shakes his head. "Not unpleasant. Just- thinking about all the time we've spent together."

"I am sorry, Will. I am more than happy to give you a referral if this is making you this uncomfortable." Hannibal tries to keep the disappointment from his voice. His hand starts to fall away from Will. 

"No!" Will grabs his elbow and holds his arm where it is. "It's not- I just-" He takes a deep breath when he realizes that Hannibal has stopped moving and is going to wait for him to speak. "You just seem so… Not the type, I guess." 

"The type?" 

"You know," Will chews on his lip. He gestures vaguely with the other hand. "The crossdressing type. It's okay. It doesn't bother me or whatever. I mean, fuck, I see things that aren't there and wake up in places I didn't go to sleep. I just didn't expect it, that's all."

Hannibal hadn't considered until this very moment that his preferred undergarments might be considered 'crossdressing'. They are, after all, designed for men. He does let his shoulders relax slightly with the knowledge that Will isn't going to be put off by finding out that he's gay. Considering Will's reaction, Hannibal wonders if Will might be attracted to him on some level. He pulls Will in to embrace him, expecting some resistance. Instead, Will folds into his chest, hands grabbing at the back of his tee shirt. 

They part slowly, in small steps. First, Will's fingers uncurl from the fabric of Hannibal's shirt. Bit by bit, they allow space to come between them. Will feels like something has crawled under his skin and is fighting its way towards Hannibal, but he thinks he's thinking clearly for the first time in months.

* * *

Will struggles to sleep at night. He lies awake for what feels like the whole night. He considers asking Hannibal if he's the type of therapist that can give him some sleeping pills. Instead, he catches naps while Hannibal works in his study. It always starts the same. He says he's going to read, but he never manages to keep his eyes open for longer than a chapter or two. 

Hannibal watches while Will sleeps. He means to work, but always seems to have less work than he has time. On the days when Will seems especially restless, he smoothes a hand over Will's sweat-soaked forehead and hushes him until his body settles. 

Will wakes and watches Hannibal through half-closed eyes. He wonders, idly, if Hannibal is wearing lace panties under his suit. The thought is a good one. He's smiling when Hannibal looks up from his tablet and offers a slight smile in return. 

"Back to it, then?" Will asks. 

Hannibal tips his head towards the window. "It seems to be raining. Perhaps today we rest."

"I think I'm the only one resting here," Will stretches out on the couch for emphasis. 

Hannibal sets the tablet down and folds his hands over one knee. "I think I like you like this."

"How's that?" Will sits up slightly, leaning against the arm of the couch. 

"You're softer when you're just waking up," Hannibal tells him. "You let me look at you."

Will laughs softly. "You always look at me."

"You don't always let me," Hannibal shifts slightly. 

Will runs a hand through his hair. "It's not you." 

"I know, Will." Hannibal stands up from his chair. "Would you like to sous chef?" 

"I'll do my best," Will smiles. 

They work in easy silence. Hannibal rolls his sleeves up in the kitchen, giving Will a full view of his forearms. He's never considered arms to be especially attractive, but Hannibal seems to be the exception to so many of his rules. 

Hannibal can tell when Will is staring. The sound of his knife slicing through vegetables slows or stops when he gets especially distracted. He tries to repeat motions that illicit an especially long pause from Will. 

Sometime towards the end of prep work, Hannibal's hair loosens and starts to fall in his face. Will is glad that his part in making lunch is finished because he isn't sure he'd be trustworthy with a knife after seeing Hannibal's hair out of its perfectly styled place. 

Hannibal notices when Will's eyes keep straying to his hair. Instead of dressing in his suit, he decides to leave it for lunch. He's curious how long Will's self-control will last. 

The tension in the air over their lunch is almost thick enough for Will to give up on eating entirely. Will hadn't even been able to pronounce the dish Hannibal told him they were making. With Hannibal sitting next to him still looking disheveled from working in the kitchen, he can't even remember which Asian country it originated from. The strands of hair over Hannibal's eyes are begging to be pushed away, but Hannibal just leaves them. 

"You seem distracted," Hannibal says, hoping to nudge Will towards some kind of action. 

Will snaps his eyes away from the tendons in Hannibal's arms. "I didn't sleep well last night."

Hannibal imagines giving Will sleep aids and getting to experience the first time he's dragged into a sleep so deep he can't wake up until the medication wears off. It's a tempting thought. More tempting still is the thought of Will, fully conscious, choosing to allow Hannibal to do what he wants with his body. 

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hannibal finally says. "Is there anything that might help you sleep better?"

Will shrugs. "I never sleep well, really. Usually the dogs are with me and Winston tries to keep me from wandering off when I'm asleep." 

"You are safe here, Will," Hannibal assures him. "My bedroom is between yours and the door. I promise you won't be waking up anywhere outside this property."

It's more reassuring than Will thinks it should be. He trusts Hannibal, though. When he looks up again, there seem to be even more loose strands of hair falling over Hannibal's eyes. 

After lunch, they return to the study so that Hannibal can "work" and Will can "read" while the rain patters down on the windows. Hannibal doesn't fix his hair or his clothes, except to undo the first few buttons of his shirt. Will fantasizes about peeling the rest of the suit off of him until sleep falls over him. 

* * *

When the rain has gone and the ground has dried, they're finally able to set to work on their project. They spend most of the day digging out the area for the foundation. Will finds himself covered in dirt by the time it's deep enough to frame. Hannibal, somehow, only seems to have gotten his hands and one cheek dirty. 

While Will mixes concrete for the foundation, the single smear of dirt on Hannibal's cheek taunts him. Hannibal is laying down gravel beneath where their foundation is going to be. To stop the foundation from cracking, he'd said. Will was only half listening. Too busy thinking about dirty hands and lace panties. 

Dirt finally does stick to Hannibal after the concrete starts being poured. He lays out rebar criss-crossed in perfect intervals without any measurement and when he stands up, dirt covers the lower half of his legs. Once the concrete is poured, he insists on edging it, even though it will never be seen again. 

"A job worth doing is worth doing right," Hannibal says. 

"Sure thing, dad," Will teases without thinking.

Hannibal chooses to respond with only a smile. He sees the blush in Will's cheeks and doesn't want to push too far. 

Using stakes in the ground, they pull a large tarp over the foundation. Once they've retreated to the kitchen to wash their hands, Will realizes that Hannibal actually looks exhausted. 

"Let me cook tonight," he says without thinking. 

Hannibal turns and looks at him with surprise. "Had enough of my cooking?"

Will shakes his head. "Never. You just look tired and you always cook." 

"Cooking is no hardship for me, Will," Hannibal assures him. 

"One night," Will pleads. "You do so much, I just- I want to do this for you. You can even be in charge. I'll be your mindless kitchen robot. Just tell me what to do."

It's an idea that Hannibal can't help but want. For all that it might be a game right now, Will was the one that volunteered it. Hannibal wonders how desperately Will has been aching for structure and discipline. So, he agrees. He guides Will through every motion to prepare their dinner. Will's hands are strong when they knead into the meat, easing seasonings into it. Hannibal imagines them wrapping around someone's throat and squeezing the life out of them. He's so entranced by the thought that almost forgets to keep talking Will through dinner. 

It tastes like something Hannibal could have cooked himself. The presentation could use a little work, but Hannibal isn't thinking too hard about that, still imagining all the different ways that Will could use those strong hands. 

"Can I interest you in a drink?" Hannibal asks after dinner has settled in their bellies. 

Will offers a lopsided smile. "I'm always interested in a drink." 

"What are you having?" Hannibal opens the door to the pantry. 

"Whiskey," Will answers, leaning against the wall and watching Hannibal move. 

Hannibal passes Will a bottle and a glass, bringing a bottle of wine for himself. They drink while they clean up the mess Will made of the kitchen. 

Will finishes his first glass as the dishes are being piled in the sink. He hardly feels it, but the room seems just a little bit happier. Hannibal insists on washing the dishes, but allows Will to dry. It feels comfortably domestic in a way that Will thinks might be unsettling if the whiskey wasn't loosening him up. In between drying and putting away, he sneaks sips of his drink and before he knows it he's refilling his glass again. 

"Can we put music on?" Will asks Hannibal with wide, wet eyes. 

Hannibal looks between the quickly emptying bottle and Will's pleading mouth. He obliges, turning on a favorite record from the 80's that he hopes Will remembers. Will's eyes and cheeks light up at the sound. He quickly swallows what's left in his glass before he starts singing along. His hands reach for Hannibal. Will has never been a dancer, but his stomach is tingling from too much whiskey and he wants to touch Hannibal any way he can. 

They dip and twirl in the kitchen. Hannibal leads because Will can't keep himself upright anymore. Will follows because he would follow Hannibal anywhere. When the song starts to end and the instrumental is fading, Hannibal pulls Will in close to his chest. They sway gently, both slightly out of breath. 

"What kind of day is today?" Will slurs slightly between words. 

Hannibal rests his cheek on the side of Will's head. "Hm?"

"You said- you said some days it's more comfortable to go without your pretty lace panties." The liquor makes Will bold and he needs to know. "What kind of day is today?"

Hannibal smiles at the thought that Will has been thinking about his undergarments every day. "Would you like to find out?" 

"Please," Will gasps, so soft Hannibal might not have heard it if they weren't already pressed together. 

Hannibal guides Will's hand from his waist to rest around his back at the waistband of his pants. He pulls his own shirt loose, then waits for Will to decide what he plans on doing. When Will finally does slide tentative fingers down the back of his pants, Hannibal lets out a soft sigh. 

Will expects to feel lace, but somehow the texture of it over Hannibal's bare skin still comes as a surprise. He drags his fingertips over the places where he can feel skin peeking through the holes in the lace. 

"Can we- I want to see you," Will says. 

"Finish your drink and we shall go upstairs," Hannibal promises. 

Will tosses the glass back and doesn't even feel the burn as the whiskey works its way down his throat. Hannibal keeps a hold on Will's hand while they climb the stairs. He worries that if he lets go, Will might not make it up them on his own. He's unsteady on his feet, probably too drunk to know what he's doing, but he's staring at Hannibal like he's been lost at sea for months and Hannibal is a lighthouse. 

As soon as they've made it through Hannibal's bedroom door, Will is on top of him. He drags his teeth over the skin of Hannibal's jaw, sucking gently along it. 

"I need you," Will says into Hannibal's neck. 

Hannibal backs up, pulling Will along towards the bed. "You have me," he promises.

Will pushes at Hannibal's pants until they're around his thighs, revealing the red lace panties he's wearing. Both of Will's hands rub over them, feeling the gentle snag of lace on his calloused hands. Hannibal nudges his own pants the rest of the way off, not wanting dirt on his bed. Will fumbles with the buckle of his own belt until Hannibal's hands cover his and take his pants off for him. Hannibal removes his shirt, revealing light gray hairs all over his chest. 

Hannibal is the most beautiful thing Will has ever seen. In the soft light of the bedroom lamp, he looks like an angel. The kind of angel that had to greet people by saying things like "be not afraid". He looks heavenly and powerful and Will thinks if he doesn't do something with his mouth he might start saying all of these things out loud. Will pushes forward, kissing everywhere but Hannibal's mouth. He bites hard enough to leave marks on Hannibal's collarbones, forcing a soft hiss out of him. He grips into Hannibal's ass, grinding their cocks together sloppily. The feeling of lace against him has Will choking back moans even through the fabric of his boxers.

Will tugs his own shirt off just before they fall into Hannibal's massive bed together. Hannibal sucks in his lip at the sight of Will's bare chest. He's slim, but soft. Patches of hair litter his chest. Hannibal holds one hip in his hand, memorizing the way Will's skin feels under his thumb. When Will's back curls forward, he reminds Hannibal of a statue he once saw at a cathedral in Belgium. He thinks that tomorrow when Will falls asleep in his study, he might draw Will as that statue. 

"You're thinking too much," Will pants. 

Hannibal bites down gently on the sensitive skin of Will's neck. "What would you have me do?" 

"Fuck me," Will huffs. 

It startles Hannibal for a moment. As much as he wants to, he hadn't expected Will to be so willing to be penetrated. He kisses the red marks made by his teeth, then moves to pull the lubricant from his bedside table. He moves slowly when he slides Will's boxers down off of his legs, giving Will the opportunity to change his mind. 

Will lets his legs frame Hannibal's sides, his cock lying half hard over his hip. The liquor has his head spinning. The gentle feeling of the world swaying under him reminds him of being on a boat. 

Hannibal is as impatient as he can be when he coats his fingers with lube and slides them into Will. The subtle shaking of Will's thighs has him rushing more than he might otherwise. He pulls his fingers away quickly, spending no time on fingering Will open. The excess lube, he wipes onto his own cock with a few quick jerks. He almost feels guilty at the way Will's eyes pinch shut when his cock first presses inside. 

For the first time in Will's recent memory, his thoughts are completely quiet when Hannibal thrusts into him. He closes his eyes to bask in the feeling. He raises one of his legs up to rest an ankle on Hannibal's shoulder, changing the angle of his thrusts to hit just right to draw long, desperate moans from him. 

Will's back twists in the way that reminds Hannibal of that statue again and it's so beautiful that he can't stop himself from turning his head to bite into Will's calf. Will's cries echo in his ears, some combination of pain and pleasure. He tastes of sweat and dirt, but mostly just himself. His thrusts are slow and deep, savoring the time he gets to spend inside of Will for as long as he's allowed. Will's hips start to rock up to meet Hannibal's thrusts on their own, grinding their hips together. Looking down at Will's neglected cock, soft against his hip, Hannibal bites back a moan. He tries to bring a hand down to coax it to hardness, but Will intercepts it and laces their fingers together. 

"Just this," he pants. "Please. Want you to- nnnngh." 

Hannibal lifts their joined hands up to kiss at Will's knuckles, scarred and calloused from years of working with his hands. "Anything for you, darling boy." 

Will's eyes shine when he looks up at Hannibal, face slack with pleasure. His free hand clutches at the pillow behind his head. Hannibal speeds up his thrusts slightly, chasing more of the tightness that has settled in his stomach. Will writhes and moans beneath him, squeezing at Hannibal's hand. Hannibal tries to memorize every detail, even as his eyes fight to close against the overstimulation. He comes deep inside of Will, then nudges his ankle down off his shoulder so that he can call forward on top of him. 

Hannibal's cheek rests over Will's heart. Both of Will's hands find their way to Hannibal's hair as he softens and slips out of him. He plays with the soft strands that lie loose over Hannibal's forehead and at the back of his neck. It's tender in a way that Hannibal wouldn't allow if Will were anyone else. Will can almost feel the uncertainty in him. He hopes it isn't because Hannibal thinks this only happened because he was drunk. Will's thighs tremble and he feels like he's come harder than he ever has in his life even though his cock never got fully hard. 

"I like you like this," Will finally says softly. 

Hannibal smiles against his skin. "How is that?" 

"Messy. Unsure." Will drags his nails lightly over Hannibal's scalp, earning a soft groan. He feels like he's floating. "You know I wanted this sober, right?"

"We should clean up," Hannibal hums. 

When Hannibal moves to sit up, Will catches his face in both hands. "I need you to know, okay?" 

"Tell me tomorrow," Hannibal says and kisses Will's cheek. 

Hannibal leaves the bed and gets a washcloth from the bathroom, first wiping off Will and then himself. He pauses at the end of the bed after putting the cloth in the hamper. 

"I'll go lie awake in my own room if you want," Will tells him, interrupting his train of thought. "I'd rather stay though. If you'll have me." 

"I could never deny you, Will," Hannibal tells him. 

When Hannibal lies down next to him, Will pulls him back to lay his head over his heart. His hands tangle in Hannibal's hair and he uses the feeling of the soft strands between his fingers to remind himself that it's real. The whiskey drags his eyelids closed before long and he dreams of a feathered stag that drops its head into his hands and lets him feel the down feathers close to its skin. 

* * *

They don't talk about it in the morning. Hannibal thinks that Will has either put the memory out of his mind or is trying to find some way to leave. They put up the frame for the dog house together, working the same as they have been. In the back of his mind, Hannibal starts to make plans for turning the house into extra storage space. 

The dogs laze about outside. Buster, the small brown and white one, claims a spot near Hannibal's feet. When Hannibal thinks Will isn't looking, Will catches him bending over to scratch at Buster's ears. Winston sits next to Will's legs, leaning up against them. He's more relaxed than Will has ever seen him. 

Will spends the entire morning trying not to hammer his fingers because he's distracted thinking about how Hannibal's body felt against his. The memories are hazy, almost like he saw them through an aquarium, but somehow that only adds to the ache for more. After they've finished for the afternoon, he stands just a little closer to Hannibal than he usually would at the sink while they wash up before dinner. 

The temptation to smell Will is too much for Hannibal to resist with him so close. He only needs to turn his head to catch it. When he does, he realizes that Will isn't wearing his aftershave again. He smiles slightly, allowing himself the fantasy that Will stopped wearing it for him. 

"Hannibal," Will calls his name to draw his attention in the middle of dinner. "I need you to know I meant it." 

As soon as the words are out of Will's mouth, his wine glass is in his hand. He drops his eyes down to his plate, as though waiting for Hannibal to tell him he's wrong. Hannibal feels as though a weight has been lifted from his chest. 

"I'd like to hear it every day if you'd tell me," Hannibal tells Will. 

Will looks up from his half-empty wine glass. "You what?"

Hannibal gives him a gentle smile. "If I could, I would like to hear every day that you find yourself desiring me."

"After this is all over that might become less practical," Will smiles in return, but it's a pained one at the reminder that someday whatever it was they were doing was going to have to come to an end. 

One of Hannibal's hands reaches across the table to rest on Will's wrist. "For as long as you will stay, you will be welcome here."

"I feel frozen in time. Like all of this is going on while the rest of the world is paused and when this is all over they're going to go on like nothing has happened," Will sighs. 

"Do you want them to know?" Hannibal rubs his thumb over the thin skin on Will's wrist. 

Will chews at his lip. "It feels wrong that they don't. Everything is different but nothing is."

"Nothing has to be," Hannibal assures him. "If you like, we can remain exactly as we have been."

"I don't like," Will's hand curls into a fist, but he's conscious not to move it in case Hannibal pulls away. "I want this. I want to know when something is real or not. I want to have dreams that end when I wake up. What do you want?"

"Whatever you will give me, Will," Hannibal confesses. "I find myself very open to compromise with you. In a way that is almost entirely unfamiliar to me."

"Can I sleep with you again?" Will asks even though he already knows the answer. Asking feels important. It feels like Hannibal needs him to ask. 

Hannibal squeezes his wrist gently. "You will always be welcome in my bed."

When they do retire, it's a slow progression. They move in small steps around one another until they finally find themselves in Hannibal's bedroom. With the light of the bedroom lamp behind him, Will imagines Hannibal with a halo ringing the loose strands of hair on his head. Hannibal as the archangel that struck down the devil from heaven. With six wings and ten thousand eyes wielding a sword of fire. When he strips himself down to only his lace panties, Will can't stop himself from reaching out and touching. He half expects to be burned. 

"I wish I could draw. There's so much I wish you could see like I see," Will tells Hannibal while his hands feel their way down his sides. 

Hannibal tugs at the hem of Will's shirt until he's able to pull it over his head. "Come to bed and tell me." 

Will strips down to his own boxers and follows Hannibal easily to the bed. Hannibal curls around his back, one arm draped over his waist. The light is out and Will can't see anything in the bedroom, so he closes his eyes to hide from the hallucinations he's afraid will come. 

"Sometimes I see you as an angel," Will confesses. "Not the nice soft kind. The kind that hurts to look at and carries a sword." 

Hannibal smiles into Will's hair. "Are you afraid?"

"I think I should be," Will answers more honestly than he means to. "But no. I think if I get too close I'll burn up in your light, but I want it."

They fall asleep easily. Will dreams of angels and demons waging war over Earth with Hannibal as the General of the army of heaven, an agent of God's wrath. 

* * *

  
  


"The electrician will be here today. The plumber will be here tomorrow," Hannibal tells Will over breakfast the day after they finish putting up the walls and roof. 

"What for?" Will asks, sleep still clawing at the backs of his eyes. 

Hannibal frowns down at the lack of news on his tablet before turning back to Will. "The refrigerator will require electricity and the water filter only works if there is water to filter."

"You're going to turn them into spoiled city dogs," Will grumbles. 

Hannibal's face relaxes into a half smile. "Perhaps you will learn from their example." 

They sit together in the study, mostly silent and content to simply exist close to one another. Will is able to actually read a few chapters of his book before his eyelids start to get heavy. 

Once Will is asleep, Hannibal picks up a paper and pencil and starts to sketch out Will as l'ange du mal. He thinks about a criticism he read of it once, from soon after it was carved. The reviewer thought that the statue was too soft and didn't have enough muscle. A tasteless reviewer, in Hannibal's opinion. His chief complaints were the same features that Hannibal is drawn to in both Will and the statue.

The sketch is nearly finished before Will wakes. Hannibal doesn't stop his pencil when he feels Will's eyes on him. Instead, he forces himself to focus on the page. He gently shades in Will's cupid's bow, using the tip of one finger to smooth the pencil strokes. 

"Can I see?" Will asks when Hannibal finally puts the pencil down

Hannibal offers the sketch to Will easily. When Will looks down, he doesn't expect to see a photo perfect rendering of his own body on paper. He knows it's his body, but somehow Hannibal has given it an ethereal quality, even with only a pencil to work with. 

"Hannibal, this is gorgeous," Will breathes. 

Will keeps the sketch close throughout the rest of the evening. Every so often, he trails his fingers over some part of it or another, then stares at Hannibal like he's still not sure he's really there. When Hannibal's eyes seem to be softening with hints of sleep and he starts heading for bed, Will doesn't ask for permission before following him upstairs. He brings the drawing with him when they head to bed for the night, tucking it safely onto the nightstand. While he strips down to his boxers, he gives it a last look. 

"Do you really see me like that?" Will finally asks. 

Hannibal turns to him, surprised. "I see you as you are," he answers. 

* * *

"It's been a long time since I've walked into a church," Will mumbles, looking up at the light dancing through stained glass windows. 

Jack nods at them from where he stands talking to the priest. He directs them through a side door to the church's garden with one hand while listening to the priest's statement. 

A beautiful marble angel statue stares at them. The sun bouncing off of it is almost blinding to look at. Will forces himself to focus on the corpse cradled in its outstretched arms. 

Its entire torso is open and hollowed of all organs, instead filled with dirt to house a collection of flowers. It almost looks like it belongs in the garden. Will knows without a doubt that this is the work of the Chesapeake Ripper.

Hannibal watches Will's face as he takes in his gift. He wonders if this will finally allow Will to truly see him and how he will respond. 

"Did the flowers come from here?" A local officer asks behind them. 

Both Will and Hannibal turn to look at him. Will glares deeply. Hannibal's eyes shift between them.

"No," Hannibal finally answers. 

The man disappears back inside the church without another word. 

"This is an offering," Will says to Hannibal. "There's someone out there that the Ripper wants to connect with. He needs them to know." 

Hannibal doesn't have time to respond. Will goes quiet when Jack opens the door and joins them. 

"What can you tell me?" Jack asks. 

Will looks from the corpse to Hannibal to Jack. "The Ripper sees himself as the vengeful angel. He's doling out judgement. I'd have to look at what the flowers mean to tell you more, but they aren't an accident. He's saying something to someone. Maybe an inside joke with himself. But there's something there." 

"Will it help us catch him?" Jack sounds desperate. 

Will looks down at the ground and bites back a laugh. "Definitely not."

Jack nods and dismisses them soon after. The drive back to Hannibal's house is quiet. When they get there, Will gets out of the car and walks straight through the back gate to the garden. Hannibal follows after the car is locked, closing the gate behind him. Buster runs over and trots at his ankles, tail wagging happily. Hannibal kneels to pick him up and carries him under one arm while he crosses the garden to stand next to Will. 

Will stands in front of the completed dog house. It's nearly a perfect match to Hannibal's house's own extravagant architecture. If it weren't for the open archway at the front instead of a traditional door, it could almost be its own apartment. 

"They don't mean anything," Will says when Hannibal gets close. "They're just the flowers we dug up for the foundation."

Hannibal stops the sharp inhale. "When did you know?"

"As soon as I saw them," Will admits. 

"Where does that leave us?" Hannibal asks tentatively. 

Will turns to look at Hannibal, who's still cradling Buster under one arm and idly scratching at his ears with the other hand. "It leaves us exactly where we have been." 


End file.
